


a little pick-me-up

by kellifer_fic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Uses His Words, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 18:19:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3391514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellifer_fic/pseuds/kellifer_fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He <i>doesn't</i> enjoy it, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	a little pick-me-up

**Author's Note:**

> From the tumblr prompt - _Stiles has some kind of minor injury that slows him down (leg, ribs, etc). Derek keeps trying to “help” by carrying him around._

It was cute at first.

Okay, it was cute probably the fourth or fifth time, but now? Rounding the corner of a solid _ten times_ means Stiles is starting to get a little flustered and rankled and... something else. 

He _doesn't_ enjoy it, okay?

"I can make it," he gruffs when Derek puts his arms out in a way that Stiles now recognizes. Admittedly, Derek never touches him without permission which is pretty decent of him, but Stiles doesn't exactly feel like he can say no to the offer either, not without having to divulge the _why_. 

The awful, embarrassing, nobody knows or will ever know, _I don't care what you think you smell Scott ugh, I hate you_ , why.

He's only got a broken toe, after all. It's not like he's helpless. The problem is that he has to wear a giant, inconvenient boot that makes walking tiring and difficult. It's especially true when they're following a troll's path through the woods and the sound of disgruntled bellowing is getting more distant because Stiles is slowing everyone down.

They can't leave him behind though, because it turns out trolls are about as allergic to mountain ash as werewolves and the other supernatural beings in his life and Stiles was the only non-fuzzy available to wield the stuff. 

"We need to catch up to him," Scott points out gently from beside Kira, looking from the path of destruction they're following and back to Stiles, or to his booted foot, pointedly. 

"I could just take this off-"

"The doctor said you have to wear that for four more weeks," Derek says, his arms drooping a little but not all the way. 

"Not every second of the day," Stiles protests.

"You think you'll hobble any faster without it?" Derek asks, tilting his head, voice neutral rather than sarcastic even though Stiles can sense the sarcasm just itching to break free.

"I can-" Scott starts to offer but Derek is shaking his head before he even manages to finish.

"You dropped him last time," Kira reminds him gently.

"He sneezed. It startled me."

"I'm losing the scent. This is a stupid argument," Derek grumbles.

"Oh, you're _losing the scent_? How awful. How will we ever find the giant monster breaking everything in its path?" Stiles says, waving his arms at the huge furrow cut through the trees. 

He's definitely being sarcastic.

"Stiles," Derek grits. 

"Okay, fine, fine. But no more bridal carry. I'm Yoda backpack-ing it," Stiles says.

"What the hell does that mean?" Derek asks, frowning and Stiles puts a finger up and twirls it in a lazy circle in the air, raising his eyebrows for emphasis. For a second Derek just keeps frowning at him, but then he rolls his eyes. "Oh for... _fine_. Just for the record, this is ridiculous."

Derek is still bitching as he turns around and hunkers down, ready for Stiles to clamber onto his back. Stiles thinks it'll be a little better than the other method because friends give each other piggy-back rides all the time right? Totally normal. Kira gave him a piggy-back just two days ago and didn't drop him at all. 

Totally fine.

It's not fine.

Stiles gets situated and Derek barely waits for him to hook his arms around Derek's shoulders before he surges forward, following the path of the troll's destruction. Scott and Kira are running parallel to them, flicking in and out of Stiles' peripheral vision, but he can hardly think about that right now. 

Right now he has Derek's lovely, ripply back moving under him. 

Why didn't he think about this more? Why didn't he just let Derek pick him up like some ridiculous romance novel Fabio-esque beef cake because while it was, Stiles is never going to admit on pain of death, nice, it isn't like _this_.

Stiles' legs start to slide down Derek's sides and Derek hooks his hands under Stiles' knees and hitches him back up again, not even breaking stride. Stiles is only wearing thin sweatpants and Derek is in a t-shirt, so when that movement drags Stiles' most intimate of intimate places hard along the bumps of Derek's spine he can _feel_ them. He's only wearing sweats because none of his jeans fit over the boot nor could roll up far enough to sit above it. 

Why did he choose this year of all years to fill his wardrobe with clothes that actually fit?

Derek's gait does falter then, but Stiles is pretty sure it's nothing he did. Maybe Derek had smelled the troll changing direction because he stumbles to a stop, his breathing ragged even though usually when he runs he barely breaks a sweat.

"Stiles," Derek grunts through clenched teeth.

"What? Am I too heavy? I did have a big breakfast-"

"We need to switch back to the other way," Derek says, sounding pained.

"Sorry, I... sorry," Stiles says quietly into the nape of Derek's neck. Sometimes he forgets that werewolves can smell emotion as easily as a fart in the dark. Derek's the best at it because he's a born wolf. He can parse a change in mood easier than anyone and right now he's probably got a snout-full of desperate, pathetic ardor that Stiles had thought he was doing at least a half-decent job of concealing.

Apparently Derek's just really good about ignoring it, but probably not when Stiles is (accidentally) rubbing his junk all over Derek's back. 

Stiles is waiting for Derek to lower down again so he can climb off, but he doesn't. Stiles gives it a minute, the only sounds the fading shush of Scott and Kira still running ahead of them and the grumbly bellows of the troll who had seemed unreasonably annoyed to be interrupted breaking into a convenience store at three in the morning.

Apparently a troll's other weakness were Icees. 

Stiles finally slides gingerly off Derek when he realizes that Derek's stiff, unmoving stance means he's not going to help any, making sure his good foot touches the ground before his bad one. It's excruciatingly awkward and now Stiles is pretty sure you wouldn't need werewolf senses to be able to tell that he's hot for beta. 

Damn sweatpants and damn Stiles not having time to find any clean underwear.

Stiles stumbles a little when he goes to take his first step and Derek catches hold of him automatically. More accurately, he grabs the fabric at Stiles' hip and because there's nothing holding the sweats up but skin and some pretty crispy old elastic, Stiles nearly loses them altogether which would make the entire night just perfect. 

Pantsed in the forest by Derek. 

Derek makes this kind of strangled grunt and yanks his hand away as Stiles catches the sliding material with his elbows before he can get a better hold of them. Derek continues to do his best impression of a statue, hands clenched by his sides. He's blinking hard, sweat beading his upper lip. 

"Are you... okay?" Stiles asks tentatively.

"I'll be fine in a minute. Can you go... further away?" Derek says, waving a hand towards the tree line.

Stiles drags his boot a few feet in the direction Derek indicates, feeling miserable. He finds a stump that doesn't look like it's full of splinters and lowers himself slowly, sticking the leg with the boot straight out when he settles. The day before was a warm one, but it's cool and damp under the trees this morning and Stiles takes a few deep, calming breaths, internally scolding his traitorous libido and trying to picture his old, crotchety piano teacher he had when he was eleven doing the Macarena in neon pink Lycra to calm himself down.

"Why can't you be annoying, on my last nerve Stiles right now?" Derek says, complaint thick in his voice as he drops his head into his palm and takes another long, shuddery breath. 

"As opposed to...?" Stiles asks, because he's pretty sure he's _always_ annoying, on his last nerve Stiles, at least where Derek is concerned.

"The other way."

"What other way? Dude, I have only like, two settings. Ass and hole," Stiles says and as Derek let out an odd little strangled spluttering noise, Stiles frowns and says, "Wait, that didn't come out right."

"Get a grip, Hale. There's a troll to kill. You _like_ killing trolls."

"Are you seriously giving yourself a pep talk before you touch me again?" Stiles asks incredulously. He didn't know he could feel worse than he did three seconds ago but apparently he can. 

"Stiles, you're not helping," Derek says, dragging the hand that had been hiding his eyes down his face.

"I'm sorry I'm not being whatever it is you want me to be while you freak out about me being into you and repugnant."

Derek freezes. "What did you say?"

"Repugnant? Gross? To you I'm about as sexy as lichen-"

"The other thing," Derek says, flipping his hands in impatience.

"That I'm into you? But you knew that already," Stiles says, blowing out a breath and shrugging.

"How did I know that already?" Derek says, sounding pained.

"You have the... sniffing thing. You can smell my dweeby crush from a mile away."

"I don't know what you think werewolves can smell-"

"Everything, Derek. _Everything_. You can smell when I'm upset, or tired, happy, sneezy, dopey _and_ whatever other emotional fantasy creatures there are."

"Maybe I know what you're feeling because I'm paying attention to you," Derek says slowly.

"Huh?"

"As in, paying more attention to you than anything else," Derek adds even more slowly with a pointed look.

Stiles waggles his boot for a moment while he lets that statement percolate. "You mean because I'm so annoying that you can't help it?"

"No."

"I'm... not sure I know what you're getting at," Stiles says, because Derek _can't_ mean what Stiles is starting to think he means. Stiles is, well, _Stiles_ and Derek's a hot werewolf with a tragic past and a secret adorably dorky side who could have anyone he wanted.

There was no way in this universe he wants...

"I'm supposed to be hunting for a troll right now, and instead here we are, me paying attention to _you_ , waiting for you to get a clue."

"You love hunting trolls," Stiles says in a small voice.

"I do. They have those huge, scowly faces."

"Sounds like someone I know," Stiles says with a grin.

Stiles' phone buzzes, breaking the moment and he sighs and digs it out.

_Where R you??? Troll treed us. HELP_

"Um, I think we need to get back to that hunting thing," Stiles says with a grimace, flipping the phone around so Derek can see the message. 

"Can I...?" Derek says, shaking his arms a little and Stiles pushes back to his feet, or at least foot, wavering unevenly for a moment before he nods.

"Bridal carry?" Stiles proposes, raising an eyebrow. 

"I could just sling you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"

"Then I'd have access to your butt," Stiles says, making squeezing motions with his hands and smirking.

"I don't have a problem with that," Derek says with an unbothered lift of his shoulders, before they both bust out laughing.

Stiles' phone bleets again just as Derek ducks in for a quick, chaste kiss, probably all they have time for before getting back to the job at hand. It's surprising and lovely and a little weird but in a good way and Derek is blushing hotly when he pulls back, looking so appealing that Stiles really wishes he could get away with taking a picture.

"Just so we're clear," Derek says with a stern decisive nod that's completely out of place with the way he's still blushing.

_TROLLS CAN CLIM_

"What's clim?" Derek asks, hefting Stiles up after Stiles shows him Scott's second message. He handles the weight easily and now Stiles is (mostly) allowed to (possibly) get away with it, he lets that inform visions of Derek picking him up in other ways. "Okay, yes, I can smell _that_ ," Derek groans, aggrieved.

"Heh," Stiles snorts, but then they hear a distant bellow. "Oh! I think he meant climb."

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am [on tumblr](http://kellifer-k.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


End file.
